


Believe in Beginnings

by significantowl



Category: British Actor RPF, Irish Actor RPF, X-Men: First Class (2011) RPF
Genre: First Kiss, Inspired by Photography, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-03-02
Updated: 2013-03-02
Packaged: 2017-12-04 02:48:59
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,735
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/705661
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/significantowl/pseuds/significantowl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A country house party, a secret or two, and a kiss.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Believe in Beginnings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [shayzgirl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/shayzgirl/gifts).



> Written for Shayzgirl in the Mcfassy Fandom Valentines post on lj, inspired by and a thank you for [this lovely Daily Delicious image set](http://mcfassy.livejournal.com/366773.html), which never quite left my head after I saw it. Title from “Save Yourself” by the Colour. Many thanks to Capriccio for her ears and eyes!

He was pale and dark amongst all the gilt and gold, easily the most eye-catching thing in the whole damn room. Michael had glanced in from the veranda hoping to find the place empty, but this was far better than he could have wished for, and he slipped through the French doors with his nerves alight.

Michael aimed for casual and hopefully came close, tapping his fingers first along the gleaming mahogany banquet table, then the spine of a brocade sofa, tilting his head to admire a drop-crystal chandelier as he passed underneath. Like it was easy to look at anything but James, like his fingers itched to touch anything but James.

No-one had thought to introduce them the previous evening, not during cocktails or the meal that followed. But James had taken it upon himself later, appearing at Michael’s elbow in the billiards room with two glasses of Scotch whisky in his hands and a smile that suggested this was going to be _good_.

The scotch had been rich and mellow, fucking perfection even to an Irishman, but it had been James that had blown his mind, been a tidal wave of warmth and cheer that Michael had never wanted to surface from. And a terrible billiards player, no matter how good those fingers had looked arched over velvet, lining up shot after doomed shot.

Michael liked to think James had chosen him for a reason. He imagined James noticing him earlier, perhaps approving of Michael’s choice of wine with dinner and deciding he would appreciate the scotch; or perhaps even approving of something else, like Michael’s voice or his laugh or the way he fitted his gunmetal grey shirt. But even if it had been nothing more than an accident - if Michael had simply been the nearest person with no drink in his hands - it had turned into a happy one for both parties, Michael was certain of it.

“Hello again,” Michael said, hooking his thumbs over his trouser pockets, half-consciously echoing James, who had his hands shoved deep into his own. A marble hearth dominated this corner of the room, the coldness of its beauty made even more so by the gold leaf inset into its carved facade and the untouchable gleam of the candelabras adorning the mantel. The logs it held would never be lit. Nothing as real as ash or smoke would be allowed to tarnish such calculated ostentation.

“Hello yourself,” James said. The walls were panelled in mirrors, edged in the same gold leaf as the fireplace, a trick to make every expensive bit of tat count two and three times over and make the whole room far more impressive than it actually was. He wouldn’t call it trickery when it came to James, though; head-on, Michael had the lovely long line of James’ throat to stare at, a gift presented by a v-neck jumper that Michael approved of heartily. That, and James’ strong forearms, pale and enticing where he’d pushed up his black sleeves. But the mirrors gave Michael the vulnerable nape of James’ neck, and Christ, the slope of his jaw from not one but two angles; how the fuck was Michael supposed to resist that?

But James’ eyes gave him pause. They held a wariness that Michael fervently hoped wasn’t for him. He thought of the sea again, but of a coiled typhoon rather than a cresting wave; the intensity looked good on James, there was no denying it, but even after only a few hours’ acquaintance Michael knew it was all wrong.

Some of this must have shown in his expression, because James sighed and said, “It turns out I was invited to this party because I'm apparently related to one of the guests. Through a man estranged to us both." Something cracked on his face, more grimace than smile. "Our host just kindly informed me of the connection. I think he's hoping I'll behave badly. I’m not sure if he wants me to cause a scene or just quietly lean on my newfound relation for money, but -” James shrugged - “he's going to be disappointed either way." 

"Oh, I think you should do both if you feel like it," Michael said, shifting on the balls of his feet, forestalling the urge to take the two steps forward that would bring him squarely into James' personal space. "I'm sure you've got a bit of bad behaviour in you somewhere."

James flashed a true, quick smile. "Catholic school upbringing. All trained out of me by now."

"Now I know that's not true, because I've had one of those as well." Michael grinned, and was delighted to see James match it. "I don't know if our host is trying to fuck with people's lives for any particular reason, or if he just has a sick sense of humour, but I know exactly why I'm here." He paused, and at James' inquiring eyebrow, continued, "The couple whose engagement we toasted last night at dinner? I was the youthful indiscretion."

James' eyebrow went even higher. "Oh, you were, were you? Bride or groom?"

"Both, actually."

"Oh, well done, they're both quite attractive people. Was it one mad night, or...?"

Michael paused for another beat. As James’ curiosity grew, the storm clouds lessened; Michael wanted to encourage that just as much as, selfishly, he wanted to be the sole object of James' attention for as long as possible. It was electrifying. "Separate indiscretions, they were. What’s left now is the question of who will break down and confess to the other first. Until then, neither of them can stand to look at me."

"Their loss," James said. And God help Michael, James chose to demonstrate his point, giving Michael a very obvious once-over, head tipping as his eyes travelled down. Michael felt his face heat but put it out of his mind, caught up in every minute shift of James’ expression. The way James bit the corner of his lip when he reached Michael's chest made Michael want to shrug out of his long duster coat just to see what would happen, if he could make James swallow, make that Adam's apple bob. It was the sudden sharpness of James' eyes when they reached Michael's waist that finally broke Michael's resolve. He'd been wrong - it only took him one step to get properly into James' space.

"I came in here thinking to move the placecards around for dinner." Michael scratched at the back of his neck just to delay the moment when he reached for James; it was going to happen, there was no question about that. "Given those two enough indigestion as it is, I'm thinking, and as there's someone I'd rather be sitting beside...."

"I think that's a brilliant idea," James said. He’d straightened up, taking his hands out of pockets, perhaps a simple reaction to Michael’s nearness, perhaps a signal of intent. "Because you'll find out, I'm a three-date kind of bloke. A gentleman's game last evening, dinner tonight -"

"And this," Michael said. He closed his hands around James' hips, and Jesus, but they felt good there. 

"Oh, most certainly this," James said, eyes alight. "A pleasant afternoon's conversation that ends in a kiss."

James rose on his toes, palms pressing against Michael's chest, and Michael didn't even consider closing his eyes. When their lips met, Michael had a kaleidoscope view: up close, freckled curve of James' cheek; in the mirror to his left, the soft, secret spot behind James' ear that Michael was going to nibble and soothe, just as soon as they came up for air; in the mirror at James' back, the hungry motion of James' head as he dove into Michael's mouth, first tasting and then pulling, sucking. Michael's hands clenched hard at James' waist, but the fine, slippery rib of James' jumper was the last thing he wanted to touch, so he shoved it upwards, finally getting his hands on the most real and precious thing in this room.

His fingers quickly gentled, and Michael realised it wasn't only a reaction to the sweetness of James' skin, but also an asymptomatic by-product of fury at their host for counting James as a pawn, and playing him far more cruelly than he had Michael himself. He stroked James’ spine, and felt like shouting; he wouldn’t, not on James’ behalf, because it was James’ choice and James didn’t want a scene. But Michael had his own right to be angry, and perhaps before the weekend was over he would find a satisfying way to express it.

James broke away first, breathing shakily against Michael's neck. Michael kept the promise he’d made to himself at once, nosing under James' jaw to taste the beautifully flushed arch of his throat, journeying as far down as the blessed v-neck of James' jumper allowed, then back up, finally ending behind the shell of James’ ear.

The way James squirmed along Michael’s front when Michael teased his earlobe was hardly fair coming from a man with a three-date rule, and the high, hushed sound he made, somewhere between a sigh and a whine, was almost worse. Michael pulled back and told him so.

“Well,” James said, looking far closer to smug than contrite. “Fair point, I suppose.”

“Indeed it is.” Michael slid the heels of his hands along James’ stomach, firmly bracing him at arm’s length. Some parts of Michael wanted nothing more than to reel James in even closer and let him squirm however he wished, but some parts of him were stupid and could be given no quarter. “So tonight, we learn exactly how much bad behaviour is left in you?”

“And in you,” James said. He laughed, rubbing a hand along his neck, right up the path Michael’s mouth had taken - the light burn of Michael’s stubble was visible above the flush fading from James’ throat in blotchy patches. “Another gentleman’s game? May the best - no,” he laughed again, “it should be worst, shouldn’t it - man win?”

Michael dipped his head to kiss James once more - how could he not, with James still laughing like that, open and delighted and full of promise? - but he was smart, keeping it to a swift press of lips, resolutely closed. “You have no idea,” he said, drawing back to see James reflected one, two, three times over, perfect from every angle. “No idea just how eager I am to lose.”

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [The Beginnings of Belief (The Believe in Beginnings Remix)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/4238949) by [luninosity](https://archiveofourown.org/users/luninosity/pseuds/luninosity)




End file.
